Thanks

I don't usually get into the holiday spirit much. Don't get me wrong, I like to give and I like to receive, I like to dress up and be with family and be thankful. I especially like to get drunk and dance in the snow to chime in a new year. Maybe it's the whole "good will towards men" thing that I'm not in tune with. Either way, as Thanksgiving passed, I did take a moment to reflect on what I'm thankful for, so I wrote about it. I very recently received my 2000th hit, and that's a big deal to me. So I would like to extend my thanks to you, dear reader. My words might as well be so much ash without someone to read them. So cheers, and tell your friends.

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Thanks

I'm thankful for insomnia
or mostly just the cause
like people who can sleep at night
don't have any thoughts worth keeping them up

Also leather, cats, the ocean, bones
trees, stars, feathers and words
and the way I can wield them

Magic and Tigers and Girls and Ghosts
but mostly the way I don't need to say that
because some things I'll always
be thankful for

And for my state of mind
and that I have the courage to say it
without worrying
about it dissolving
from beneath me
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There you have it, post number twenty-six. (approach with trepidation)

Fears and Hospitals

I've been developing a fascination with words used to describe harm or violence, often used out of that context. This poem is about a kind of loss, which I am simultaneously clueless about and quite familiar with. I can't really explain it, and judging from what I've written here, I hope I don't have to experience any time soon, because I'm clearly ill prepared for it. Also, please forgive my chaotic punctuation, I've never really gotten the hang of properly punctuating poetry. I'll work on that.

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Fears and Hospitals

All these afflictions

from a list, laundry-like

expressed clinically

and dispassionate

Dry

like my eyes

in stark contrast to yours

But my sleep's been stretched

thin, full of holes

or artificial and stupor-like

the product of sleep aids and alcohol

in stark contrast to yours

comatose

until moments ago

Now I know what fountain

this feeling springs from

that twists tendrils

round my ankles and shoots

chills charging past my shins

fills my throat with water

I can breathe but I can't swallow

like your swollen and tender

will not allow

your chest and it's broken

ragged breaths

and how you shake from the

searing and shooting

to draw them

I'll never see again

thesameform thesamegrace thesameshape

never curl myself around those

shattered clavicles

serpentine 

ohgod

what if I wake

all twisted in dreams

and can't bear to leave my bed

and you're not there to temper me?

ohgodohgod

Our eyes are 

temporarily the same

when they talk about 

just how so very long

they expect before you'll walk again

and I have to leave the room

ohgodohgodohgod

And all I can think of is

how I need a drink 'cause

I can't deal with this

and where are my meds

and I'm not all here

and if bones are your problem

you can have mine I don't need them

cut bits of my ribs or my shins or my spine

my fingers take my fingers

I'll hold the scissors

ohgodohgodohgodohgod

I'm just bits

and parts and pieces

connected by tissues

and tendons

and creases

and without you that's all I can be

I don't need the sum of my parts

I need you, goddamnit

But all this wild-eyed fear

I plant beneath the surface

because the last thing you need

is my typical breathless

wandering chaotic

thought trains and panics

I'll summon strength for you

if I can manage

and squeeze your sweet fingers

undamaged

and say

"Baby, can I get you a sandwich?"

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There you have it, post number twenty-five. (approach with trepidation)

Blues

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Blues

Girl's got bruises on her heart
you can see from across the room
When we got to talking
I could tell that they were new

freshly black and green
purple and blue
but despite all the damage
She's so goddamn cute

and my skin's grown thick enough at last
that when she bites it doesn't sting
and the rattle of prescription bottles from her pocket
is no longer frightening

so I took her to a seedy bar
where they turn the lights down low
I poured out her beer
and she poured out her woes

I went to the jukebox
and put on the blues
because I knew that's what she had
but not sure that she knew

I put one hand on her waist, 
the other around her hand
her eyes went wide, she stammered and blushed
opened her mouth to protest, but found herself hushed

I started swaying to and fro
and told her to shut the fuck up
with no ill will in mind
she managed to shake off the shakeup

and she smiled
real quick
and real quiet
in secret

and we danced.
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There you have it, post number twenty-four. (approach with trepidation, such trepidation)